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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531098">Set It Free, Must Be Tough</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonely_Heart119/pseuds/Lonely_Heart119'>Lonely_Heart119</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Rewrite, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:41:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,595</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonely_Heart119/pseuds/Lonely_Heart119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A non-linear exploration of what Caleb and Caduceus's relationship could have been.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Set It Free, Must Be Tough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is from Tame Impala's "Borderline."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Four Corners is far from luxurious, but it’s an enclosed space close to what they’re doing in town that will fit the seven of them. That’s more than enough for Caduceus, but on the back of the exhausting argument the group just finished having over that ominous well, he keeps his brand of comparative optimism to himself.</p><p>Splitting up the rooms nearly turns into another argument, but Caduceus finds himself in the farthest corner stall without much hassle, leaning his staff against the water damaged woodgrain of its supporting pillars. </p><p>Fjord is turned away from him, grumpily undoing his vambraces and attempting to hide how much longer his frustration is making it take. Caduceus is just starting to untie his chest plate at the shoulder when the door slides open, the metal run it’s attached to emitting a loud squeak.</p><p>“Hello, Caleb. Is it just you?”</p><p>“Ah, yes. It would appear so.” That seems to be the extent of conversation he’s willing to offer, so the three of them prepare for bed in silence.</p><p>Not that there’s much to prepare, as the “room” they’ve been given for the night is nothing more than a glorified livestock pen. Moth-eaten linens and worn, faded blankets of varying sizes line the floor, set overtop what is most assuredly hay. Caduceus picks a spot at random and reclines.</p><p>Yep. That’s hay. But Caduceus has slept on, and in, much worse. So he shifts an arm underneath his head and falls asleep.</p><p>~</p><p>He’s not sure what wakes him at first, just that the hairs inside his ears are beginning to prickle. He sits up and swivels his head; the small amount of outside light that’s made its way through the room’s lone window does little to illuminate the space, so he reaches for his staff. </p><p>The door is closed and there’s comfort in knowing that it can’t be opened without a fair amount of noise. Fjord is on his side, facing the wall and seemingly asleep. A movement catches in his periphery and he turns bodily to look at where Caleb is laying on the other side of the room.</p><p>He’s on his back, the brown coat he wears folded into a grimy and tattered pillow beneath his head. He’s wearing his gloves and his arms are still tightly bandaged up to the bicep, though what might have once been white cloth is now a putrid bistre. Caduceus winces and promises to strongly suggest that Caleb buy and use new ones sooner rather than later.</p><p>Caleb twitches again and his fingers clench where they’re resting on his stomach. He exhales sharply and Caduceus can just pick up the smell of fear starting to eke out from under his arms.</p><p>He’s known of Caleb’s tendency to have nightmares for a time now, though he’s never seen it personally. Veth once lamented to him that for as many times as she had woken Caleb from them, he was always reluctant to tell her the details of his “bad dreams.” She had been drunk, but the sentiment was nice enough.</p><p>Caduceus shifts forward, angling his staff in such a way that the soft, purplish light emanating from the crystal atop it illuminates Caleb’s face. His skin is starting to shine with sweat. The acrid fear-smell is getting stronger. He jerks again, letting out a choked off moan of fear.</p><p><em> Okay, that’s enough. </em>Caduceus reaches a hand out and places it square on Caleb’s shoulder.</p><p>“Ah!” Caleb’s eyes shoot open and his hands fly to the component pouch at his side. Caduceus makes no sudden movements, offers a quiet greeting instead. The black of Caleb’s pupils retreats slowly as he stares at Caduceus, confusion fading.</p><p>“You were having a bad time,” he says by way of explanation. Caleb is still breathing heavy, still slick with perspiration. Caduceus thinks he’ll shrug away from the hand on his shoulder, squirm out of the point of physical contact as quick as ever. </p><p>But he doesn’t. He stays still and evens out his breathing.</p><p>“I am sorry that I woke you.” His voice is rough with sleep, or guilt. Probably both.</p><p>“You didn’t,” Caduceus lies. “I was meditating.”</p><p>He still hasn’t moved from underneath Caduceus’s hand. Absently, Caduceus reaches to smooth his hand across Caleb’s forehead, unsticking a few damp locks of hair from his skin and wrapping around to one of Caleb’s temples in a slow, sweeping motion. </p><p>It’s a holdover from his days of soothing Clarabelle, when she’d wake from a nightmare and scramble into his bed to rest her head against his chest. </p><p>He realizes in a frightening instant that below him is not his precocious younger sister but his nervous, touch-averse traveling companion. He all but jerks his hand back as if Caleb’s skin were scalding to the touch.</p><p>“Sorry,” he murmurs. He wants to offer more than that, thinks too late that he could have played it off like he was checking Caleb’s temperature. But Caleb isn’t glaring or cursing at him.</p><p>The air stretches thin between them. When Caduceus glances at Caleb’s face, he finds his eyes trained on the sloped thatch ceiling. Caduceus swears he catches the faintest trace of that fear-smell again, but it’s gone by the next inhale. </p><p>When Caleb speaks again it’s a sticky whisper, like the words are catching somewhere in his throat. </p><p>“Maybe I do not mind that so much.” Caduceus picks up on something in the way he speaks, something that changes the tone of what he’s saying from placative to permissive. </p><p>It might be in the way Caleb is resting: his shoulders loose and his hands clasped together, his boots turned towards Caduceus even though his face isn’t.</p><p>Something’s happening in Caduceus stomach, like he’s just swallowed an overhot spoonful of honey and it’s making him feel warm and tense at the same time. He makes a note to consider it later.</p><p>He appraises Caleb’s words. As a rule, his own hunches are rarely wrong.</p><p>He hopes this isn’t the exception. </p><p>Moving closer, he rearranges himself so he’s sitting cross legged, his knee almost touching Caleb’s shoulder. He strokes Caleb’s hair, steadily tripping the tangled length of it through his fingers. It’s soft, a little oily, and the feeling is very interesting against his fingertips.</p><p>“This okay?” He asks in a low voice. Caleb’s eyes are closed in what Caduceus first assumes to be discomfort with the potential for eye contact. He knows after a beat that Caleb is simply asleep, face slack, chest rising and falling evenly.</p><p>Caduceus continues for a few minutes before pulling his hand away and moving back to his spot on the floor. He tucks his staff close to him and rests, again pushing aside that yet unnamed feeling in his gut.</p><p>~</p><p>Caleb is late to dinner again. The past three nights he had slid into his seat with a short apologetic nod, claimed a cup of lukewarm wine and a bowl of cold root vegetable stew without so much of a blink at its taste. </p><p>Tonight, when it seems like he’s finished after only two bites of bread with a paltry smear of vegetable paste, Caduceus nears his limit. The rest of the Nein have already ambled off, leaving the two of them sitting opposite one another over what remains of the picked-clean table.</p><p>Caduceus catches Caleb’s eye and fixes him with a stern look, mixing equal parts disappointment and displeasure with a dash of mild guilt for flavor. His friends’ health is something he takes seriously, Caleb being the opposite of an exception - a focus, rather - of this principle.</p><p>“I am sorry for being late, Caduceus. I appreciate what you do here for the group, night after night.” He speaks genuinely, his brow furrowing and the sides of his mouth turning downwards.</p><p>It’s so nice that Caduceus can feel the tips of his ears involuntarily perk. But he can’t let that be the end of it. He doesn’t let his piercing gaze falter.</p><p>“You’re distracted.” </p><p>Caleb turns his head at this, lets the section of his hair not bound over his head curtain his face from view. It’s a practiced motion and Caduceus wonders if he knows how often he does it.</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>.” He seems content to leave it at this, tearing the chunk of bread in front of him apart piece by piece. </p><p>Caduceus sweeps his gaze over Caleb’s face again, taking in his sunken eyes and the emerging dark circles beneath, the unnatural paleness of his already fair skin (where it isn’t empinkened by his embarrassed flush).</p><p>“You’re tired.” It’s an easy enough conclusion to draw, but Caleb’s eyes snap to his in surprise all the same. He opens his mouth, maybe to spring to his own defense, but seems to think better of it.</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>.” His voice comes out a little rough, his eyes still determinedly fixed on the wasted remains of his bread loaf.</p><p>“Is it falling asleep, or staying asleep that’s the problem?”</p><p>“A little of both.” His words are tinged with a funny inflection and Caduceus knows he’s holding something back. </p><p>To be fair that’s usually the case with Caleb.</p><p>“I may have something that can help with that. A few things, actually.” When he says this, Caleb meets his eyes again and something close to hope flickers through them.</p><p>“You are too kind, Caduceus.”</p><p>~</p><p>The special tea is tricky to locate, tucked between a tin of medicinal ointment and a bundle of dried rosemary in one of Caduceus’s stashes of items in the towertop area he’s claimed as his bedroom-slash-garden. </p><p>He finds and loads up a small tray with the blend, as well as his favorite teapot - the polished one with swirling jade accents carved to look like grasping hands around the spout. He also grabs two blue ceramic cups, a cloth sachet of sweet-smelling potpourri and a few sticks of fine incense.</p><p>He tugs his favorite woven blanket from his bed and rolls it underneath his arm. On a whim, he finds and slips one of the small vials of holy water he keeps near the shrine to the Wildmother into the fold of his clothes.</p><p>He carefully descends the tower staircase and slips into what Beau and Fjord have excitedly, if not prematurely, dubbed the “training room.” Though all that’s there to indicate such are two heavy sacks of flour suspended from the room by a rope, as well as some sort of makeshift exercise aid in the form of two stacked barrels with several wooden poles stuck inside of it.</p><p>He steps into the next room. The study, he recalls. It’s less barren, showing signs of Caleb’s near constant use in the time the Nein have spent in the house so far. </p><p>One table has been pushed flush to the western wall and Caduceus notices that every square inch of its surface is covered in paper both fine and worn, empty inkwells and their corresponding dry-tipped, dullened quills as well as a few components contained in glass phials that he can’t quite make out the exact contents of.</p><p>The anatomy of the room is interesting, the back wall sloping itself into something narrow and more private. Caduceus can just make out in the low light of the room the shape of an interconnected series of glass beakers on a wide stand and bookshelves against the far wall, devoid of books but rife with alchemical ingredients. </p><p>He remembers how quiet Caleb had been during the Nein’s meeting about delegating the rooms. He had piped up to catch Veth’s eye and promised her and Yeza a stocked laboratory. Something in Caduceus’s chest turns strangely at the memory and he looks away from the desk and the alchemy lab.</p><p>A shred of candlelight peers into the room from a door to his right and Caduceus gingerly pushes it open with his foot.</p><p>Caleb’s bedroom is unsurprisingly austere, the only furniture being a small wooden dresser - composed of that interesting wood he’s seen everywhere in Rosohna - that Caleb’s sleek purple coat is draped over, and the medium sized bed pressed into the corner of the far wall. </p><p>Caleb is sitting, facing Caduceus with his bare feet placed flat on the floor. He’s dressed in only a loose white undershirt and the dark pants he usually wears. He’s taken the band out of his hair, letting it run the full path of its growth to just above his shoulders.</p><p>The sight of him, soft looking and ready for sleep, is almost striking. One of the teacups nearly slides off the board Caduceus is holding and he moves to put it down on the dresser.</p><p>He takes a moment to lay everything out, including his blanket on the floor near the bed. He hums a tune, not acknowledging that he can acutely feel how Caleb’s eyes are tracking his movements.</p><p>“I actually need your help.” Caduceus picks up the filled teapot and gives it to Caleb, miming what he thinks is a clear indicator of what he wants.</p><p>“Oh! Yes, I can do that.” Caleb grasps the teapot from the bottom with both hands, igniting a fire in his palms. The short flames lick up the sides of the pot, shift to fit around its shape. Steam rises out of the spout.</p><p>With the tea poured, Caduceus lights a stick of incense and waves an aimless perimeter around the room with it pinched between his fingers. He grabs the sachet from the tray and approaches the bed.</p><p>“This is an aromatic to help encourage sleep. I recommend putting it under your pillow,” he says, and Caleb complies wordlessly. He gives Caleb his teacup and settles down cross-legged onto the blanket beside the bed. </p><p>He lets the warmth of the tea bleed through the ceramic into his fingertips for a moment, jerking his head up when Caleb hisses in pain.</p><p>“That was stupid of me,” he says, rubbing over his mouth. The steaming teacup and the look of irritation and mild pain creasing the lines of his face reminds Caduceus so starkly of Calliope that he can’t help but laugh. Caleb’s eyes narrow at him.</p><p>“I’m not laughing at your pain, I promise. You just reminded me of…” he stops mid sentence, suddenly unsure. </p><p>The Nein know <em> of </em> his family - they’re aware how he’s named his moorbounder after his younger sister - but other than that, they only know that he hasn’t seen any of them for years and that he continues to search for them to this day. </p><p>He doesn’t think he’s actually ever described any of his family members in detail to them. The thought makes him feel strange.</p><p>Caleb is watching him, looking curious.</p><p>“...one of my younger sisters,” he finishes, and it feels like something in him unclenches, like a muscle he didn’t know he’d been tensing had suddenly relaxed. </p><p>Caleb makes a considering noise. </p><p>“Does the rest of the Clay family appreciate tea like you do?”</p><p>“Some of them. My aunt Corrin actually taught me how to properly make tea. I must have been real young, thirty or so.” </p><p>Caleb’s eyes widen. “Thirty years?”</p><p>“Oh no, thirty seasons,” Caduceus clarifies, amused. Caleb’s posture relaxes and he hazards another, more cautious, sip of tea.</p><p>“This is good. I never asked what was in it. Or who.” For a second Caduceus thinks he’s being made the butt of a joke, but Caleb’s eyes aren’t sharp or hard. In fact they’re a little crinkled around the edges. His mouth has a small sideways slant to it. </p><p>“Skullcap,” Caduceus says lamely. He wants to keep talking to Caleb, and he’s surprised by how badly he wants to keep telling him about his life and his family.</p><p>“Interesting family name.” Caleb is clearly teasing him now.</p><p>He’s heard Caleb joke in this way only twice before: once to Veth, and once to Frumpkin. Being on the receiving end of it is making his palms sweat, though he doesn’t know why. He feels the need to respond in kind, to keep talking.</p><p>“All milliners, if you could believe it.” Caleb’s mouth twitches like he’s successfully held in a laugh. Caduceus has the sudden urge to hear him laugh out loud.</p><p>They sip their tea together for a long moment.</p><p>“Are all of your family members gravetenders?” Caleb asks as he leans over and places his empty teacup on the floor next to the bed.</p><p>“Essentially, yeah. We were all taught the art of gravekeeping, and how to administer proper burial rites under Melora’s eye. How to maintain the Grove and attend to the nature of the Savalirwood the best we could with the materials we had.” He feels like he’s starting to ramble, but Caleb’s focus hasn’t strayed. </p><p>Being the recipient of that singular intensity was equal parts stressful and inviting.</p><p>“I remind you of your sister?”</p><p>“Sometimes. Calliope’s...a serious person. No nonsense. It makes playing pranks on her so much fun.”</p><p>“So that is the difference.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“You don’t play pranks on me.”</p><p>He feels like he’s missed something. Caleb is looking at him levelly, propped up against the headboard by one of his pillows. His eyelids look heavy and the ghost of a smile still graces his mouth.</p><p>“Something tells me you wouldn’t appreciate waking up in an empty grave. Or pushed into a river when you’re least expecting it.” </p><p>Caleb chuckles and the sound reverberates pleasantly on the inside of Caduceus’s ears.</p><p>“No, I suppose not. You are the prankster of your family, then?”</p><p>“Pretty much. My other younger sister was a little bit of a wild child, though. I wouldn’t put it past her to have grown into a mischief streak.”</p><p>He wonders what Clarabelle looks like now and a pang of hurt rattles through his chest. She was the last one to set out from the Grove, alongside his father, and it’s been so long since he’s seen her. He misses her like he misses seeing the sun in Rosohna, remembers how easy it was to reach over and rustle her hair while she traced patterns in the dirt near their family garden. </p><p>A memory comes to him, makes him split a wide grin.</p><p>“One time, she built a dam in a nearby river and almost destroyed every single crop we were growing that season. She didn’t mean to, of course, but man were our parents mad…” </p><p>Caleb’s eyes are closed but he makes a noise like he wants Caduceus to elaborate. </p><p>He pitches his voice low and tries to tell the story in a way that leaves little gaps or pauses in his cadence. By the time he’s finished, Caleb has slid fully onto his back, arms curled and limp at his sides. </p><p>He feels an impulse to reach out and touch, to trace a path down the side of his face like he had in The Four Corners. He thinks of how Caleb would react if he were awake, shakes the thought away.</p><p>He slides to the floor instead, settling his back against the mattress. He searches for the small vial hidden in the folds of his tunic and uncorks it when he finds it, sprinkling the holy water over the palms of his hands. </p><p>He lets the cycle of his breathing slow and unconsciously match Caleb’s. He starts a low prayer in the back of his throat, letting himself drift away from his body.</p><p>The presence of the Wildmother is like a sweet balm to the skin, as always. </p><p>He feels an ethereal <em> tip-tap </em> against the apple of his cheek.</p><p><em> Will Caleb be spared from his nightmares tonight? </em> It’s taken a fair bit of <em> Communing </em> to get comfortable with the act of thinking his questions instead of asking them aloud. She makes it easy.</p><p>He feels a wave of heat against his cheek, like the sun peeking from behind the clouds to glance across his skin. A resounding <em> yes. </em> He settles back against the bed, relieved.</p><p><em> Is my family safe? </em> A mainstay of his <em> Communes</em>. Every time, he hopes the answer will be different, will fill him with a sense of hope or otherwise grim determination. But, like before, the feeling of sunlight retreats. A cool breeze slides past his eyelids and the bridge of his nose.</p><p>It could be <em> I don’t know</em>, which is concerning enough in its own right that they could be in a situation beyond the Wildmother’s reach. It could also mean that their safety is in constant flux, that their movements and intentions are too hard to pin down.</p><p>Both are equally unsatisfying. But at the very least it’s hurt that’s familiar, worn into his heart like the earthen groove of a well-trod forest path.</p><p>He sighs, catches himself feeling disappointed and cuts it off. He still has one more question, and he toys with what he should ask. The happiness from his conversation with Caleb, still lingering even through his disappointment, makes him feel a little bold.</p><p><em> Is getting closer to Caleb a good thing?  </em>He rarely ever asks Her personal opinion on the state of his life. If he’s honest, he likes to think he’s already in tune with Her wishes and desires as a devoted cleric. Imploring Her opinion on things such as interpersonal relationships feels a little shortsighted in the grand scheme of being able to communicate with a divine being.</p><p>A warm, pleasurable feeling slides down the length of his spine. It spreads and sparks, making his thighs and groin clench. He can feel his heartbeat thump loud and fast in his chest. A sensation not unlike that of being tickled makes its way across his ribs and he has to fight the urge to laugh. </p><p>Oddly, when the feeling retreats, it dissipates back into that cloudy, tumultuous state of uncertainty. Rarely has the Wildmother directly answered him with anything more complex than <em> Yes</em>, <em> No</em>, <em> Maybe</em>, and <em> I don’t know</em>. </p><p>She does this time.</p><p><em> Yes. But tread carefully. </em> And with the press of that same sunlight on his brow, Her presence fades.</p><p>Caduceus takes his time gathering the things he brought to Caleb’s room. With one last lingering glance at the man’s sleeping form, Caduceus pinches the flame from the only burning candle and leaves to make the trek back to the rooftop.</p><p>He has a lot to think about.</p><p>~</p><p>Caduceus is leaning over his handiwork, one of the four stacks of hardwood logs he’s arranged along the length of the gardening trays that line the edge of his garden. The wax he had poured along the small holes in the wood has cooled and what’s left to do at this point is to watch carefully, make sure the weather conditions are right.</p><p>And maybe pray a little. Gardening could always use a little prayer.</p><p>He doesn’t hear anyone clamber up the ladder to the tower, but feels a pair of eyes peering at him. He turns around to scan the rooftop. Frumpkin struts past the open trapdoor, stopping a few feet from where Caduceus is standing.</p><p>“Hello, Mr. Frumpkin.”</p><p>The cat doesn’t approach him, sits plainly on the stone floor ten feet away and watches Caduceus with a moon-yellow gaze.</p><p>He knows that it’s Caleb. He can’t say specifically what tips him off, what exactly he notices that make the difference between Frumpkin’s regular nature and how he acts while being controlled and peered through by Caleb; he just <em> knows</em>.</p><p>And that’s confusing. Was there any particular reason Caleb was spying on him today? Maybe he was concerned for Caduceus’s safety, being alone in the open for extended periods of time.</p><p>Maybe he wanted to learn more about mushroom growing. </p><p>Both equally likely.</p><p>He makes his way over to the shrine, picks a few errant twigs out of the small bowl of water at the base of it. He sits down fully to start a small prayer, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Frumpkin is sitting near to his leg, looking at him.</p><p>That must be the difference. Normal-Frumpkin never seemed interested in watching him so intensely. Caduceus reaches out to scratch at his head behind his ear, and the cat leans into the touch. He lingers for a few seconds before letting his hand fall to the ground.</p><p>“You’re fuzzier like this, sure. But I think I prefer it when you can talk back to me.”</p><p>Frumpkin freezes. His tail twitches erratically for a few moments, and then he’s bounding off to disappear into the open trapdoor without so much as a meow.</p><p>Caleb refuses to meet his eyes at dinner that night. After, he speaks only when everyone else is out of earshot.</p><p>“I apologize for earlier.” His face is blazing, and his arms are crossed tightly underneath his arms.</p><p>“It’s not a problem. I meant what I said, though. Come up to the tower any time.”</p><p>“Oh. I am, usually very busy. With my studies down here…” Caleb looks flustered and irritated, though only with himself. It’s not hard to recognize what he’s asking for.</p><p>“How about I bring you some tea later? I find a good cup of tea always helps me focus.”</p><p>Caleb’s body untenses though his cheeks are still speckled pink.</p><p>“That sounds nice, Caduceus.” He inclines his head, seems to decide it isn’t adequate and leans forward in a slight bow. He must decide the bow is a worse choice, winces and shakes his head before retreating from the room.</p><p>
  <em> He’s adorable. </em>
</p><p>Huh, what does <em> that </em> mean? Something else about Caleb to ponder, he guesses.</p><p>It had been present in him ever since that night he had comforted him in Asarius. </p><p>A feeling he couldn’t name that fizzled and popped like loose embers in his stomach when Caleb spoke, when he wove his hands together to cast a spell, when he curled bodily over a piece of parchment to focus on tracing and memorizing magics.</p><p>He thinks he’s looked at Caleb’s face more in the past month than he’s looked at the rest of the Nein combined.</p><p>Caduceus considers telling him, sometimes thinks it would be easier to interact with Caleb if the man knew what he was experiencing. </p><p>Maybe he could even help him figure it all out. </p><p>But he’s aware of how sensitive Caleb is, how easy it is to overwhelm him. Caduceus may not know much about navigating relationships, but telling the person you’re having strange feelings about that you’re having strange feelings about them doesn’t seem like it would pay off in anybody’s favor.</p><p>He’s patient, willing to let whatever he’s feeling regarding Caleb germinate. He’s endlessly curious about what will sprout, knows overcaring for a plant only stunts its growth.</p><p>So he bides his time. They spend a little longer in each other’s company every night that week.</p><p>Caleb occasionally describes an interesting development in whatever he’s currently reading; the man seems to move through books like a fish through water. Caduceus doesn’t think he’s ever had so many new arcane concepts explained to him in his life, or that he’s enjoyed learning something he’s never going to use more. </p><p>One evening, Caleb tries to illustrate the exact difference in the somatic movements of his spells. Caduceus had mentioned offhandedly that his gestures appeared very similar to one another, and Caleb’s face had turned a pleasing rosy shade with his mild indignancy.</p><p>“Some of these gestures are worlds apart. See,” he says, turning his palm downwards and making a pinching, turning motion with this thumb and forefinger. A small flame erupts and flickers from the tips of his fingers. It disappears.</p><p>“Compare that to this,” he continues, snatching his hand into the pouch at his side in a blink. He holds his right palm towards Caduceus and curls his fingers, doing something complicated with his wrist before straightening it. Small globules of white light emerge from his hand to swirl sluggishly around his head.</p><p>Caduceus tries to mimic the gesture, which earns him a low, short laugh. </p><p>More of a huff, really. </p><p>He still inexplicably feels triumphant. </p><p>Caleb steps towards him, cradles his hand in his own and begins to manipulate his fingers into proper shape.</p><p>“More like this. Every part of your hand must be in sync.” Caduceus doesn’t feel like he has any part of this right, but Caleb eventually nods in satisfaction. </p><p>And then, as if he’s noticing for the first time what he’s actually doing, drops his hands away like they’ve been shocked. He presses them to his sides, his arms tensing as he takes a step backwards.</p><p>He maintains this posture for the rest of this evening together. Caduceus privately feels sympathy for him, attempts not to speculate about what Caleb might be feeling and definitely attempts not to fixate on the warm, firm feeling of Caleb’s calloused skin against his own.</p><p>Some nights - most nights - Caleb’s spellwork and current literary fixation will be swept aside in favor of sipping slowly on too hot cups of tea and listening to Caduceus tell a story about his life in the Blooming Grove. </p><p>He tells the one about Clarabelle climbing and getting stuck in a tree for hours, and the time Calliope cut his hair while he slept in revenge for his accidental tearing of her favorite blouse. </p><p>The one about Colton sneaking out to meet his first boyfriend and causing a full panic among both his parents was received particularly well.</p><p>Caleb is a great listener. His attention never wanes, and he’ll occasionally interject to provide an opinion or reaction when appropriate. It makes Caduceus’s ears fold and his fur heat to be the recipient of that focus so often, though the feeling is not unpleasant by any means.</p><p>At the end of each night Caduceus gathers his things and departs with a nod and gentle farewell. Invariably, Caleb’s eyes will stick to him, follow him as he walks out the door to the study. Caduceus falls asleep every night that week with that same honey-heated feeling in his stomach.</p><p>It’s great.</p><p>And then they lose Yasha.</p><p>~</p><p>The ride back to Bazzoxan is pinched with the most strained silence Caduceus has ever experienced. It’s nearly suffocating, and when the tired, dull eyes of his companions refuse to meet his own he feels the already expansive pit of dread in his stomach deepen.</p><p>~</p><p>He learns about the sword, where he must go next, and the relief is a cool and welcome reprieve for his sore nerves. </p><p>Caleb teleports them to the Lucid Bastion, and they have a surprisingly lucrative conversation with the Bright Queen in which Caduceus feels so stressed that upon leaving the throne room forgets everything he said in the course of conversation. </p><p>That’s not true. He remembers the name Kravaraad. The name for the place in his vision.</p><p>~</p><p>They’re led underground, into the same dank crypts that Yeza was held in.</p><p>Right. The Dynasty had also captured a “scourger,” were keeping her to be interrogated and then executed. The sweat is still cooling on his lower back as Caleb steps to converse with her, the line of his body steel stiff and his hands clenched into pure-white fists.</p><p>He speaks in Zemnian, his voice cutting harshly around the consonants as if he doesn’t want the words to so much as touch his mouth as they exit it. The dirtied, bloodied woman says something, and then Caleb turns on his heels and walks briskly back down the hallway, brushing past the group without a look.</p><p>Later that night, he awkwardly offers them all alcohol, his eyes darting and narrowing strangely. As they toast their cups, Caduceus knows something is wrong.</p><p>Well, a lot of things are wrong right now. But, something extra is weighing on Caleb. Something unrelated to losing Yasha or the general nightmare of the past week.</p><p>The group says their goodnights, splitting off to their respective rooms. Caleb lingers a moment extra, and Caduceus hears the sound of his footsteps turn towards the stairs.</p><p>He gives him a decent start, takes the steps slowly. The wooden hatch lays open, and he boosts himself up with a little effort.</p><p>Caleb is leaning against the western parapet, an old but sturdy structure lining the perimeter of the tower. He’s tilted forward on his elbows and as Caduceus steps to his side he can see how Caleb is staring forward into the middle distance, face a stone mask.</p><p>They’re close, shoulders not quite touching. He can see Caleb is resting his jaw in his hands, and the sight reminds him of Clarabelle. </p><p>Occasionally she would decide to ‘run away’ from home, and he would find her on the other side of the creek some hundred paces from their house, kicking toadstools and dramatically draping herself over a fallen tree.</p><p>He would sit next to her, mirror her position and wait for her to speak first. Of course, Caleb isn’t going to complain about how hard it is to stay silent while meditating, or how irritating it is to be given so little responsibility over the performance of rites and burial services. Still, he thinks the idea is sound.</p><p>And after a few minutes, Caleb speaks.</p><p>“It is funny, in a way.” He isn’t smiling, which makes Caduceus think whatever he’s about to say isn’t very funny at all.</p><p>“The study that I occupy now in this house is almost as large as the home I grew up in.”</p><p>Caduceus can relate to that. He has the inkling that the tub that he <em> Stone Shaped </em> with Jester’s direction downstairs is bigger than the room he and his brother had shared in their youth. </p><p>He makes a noise to let Caleb know he’s listening.</p><p>“I was raised as a farm boy. Rising before dawn, caring for livestock, seeding and harvesting. It was hard work. Mindless at times. I was diligent, but my parents knew that there was something…”</p><p>“More?” Caduceus suggests. Caleb nods.</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>. A yearning for higher knowledge. When the opportunity arose to study at the Academy, it was…” Caleb’s eyes gleam as they sweep across the horizon.</p><p>“...irresistible.”</p><p>Caduceus takes a half step back, inclines his head in a silent plea for Caleb to move closer. Caleb turns towards him.</p><p>“How old were you?” Caduceus asks, taking another few steps toward and dropping to the ground next to the tea table he had enlisted the help of Jester and Yasha in moving and placing a few weeks ago. Caleb follows as if tied to him by a length of cord, sits next to him. </p><p>Their shoulders are touching now.</p><p>“I was sixteen.”</p><p>Caduceus doesn’t remember much of his first sixteen years of life (though if he’s honest he’s having a little trouble figuring out how many seasons are in sixteen years). He imagines himself toddling after Colton and searching for interesting bugs in the soft patches of earth surrounding the temple. </p><p>He thinks of Caleb at sixteen, can’t conjure up the image of anything other than a very young child.</p><p>“I lived there, at the Academy. There was less physical labor to be done, of course. But I was surrounded by knowledge. Arcana as well.” A real smile tugs at the corner of Caleb’s mouth.</p><p>“The library alone was <em> magnificent</em>. I would sometimes sneak away from my dormitory to linger there, just reading. I was quite the proper student, besides that.” </p><p>It’s not hard to picture, Caduceus has seen traces of it in him still: Caleb hunched over a pile of open books and scrolls and pieces of half-inked parchment paper, muttering to himself and occasionally reaching over to scratch at Frumpkin’s head if he was laying near.</p><p>“After a year, I was approached by the headmaster of the Academy. Margolin, his name was. He said that I had been chosen for a specialized education program. I was to benefit the Empire by aiding the Assembly.” The expressionless mask is back, the affectation in Caleb’s voice flat once again.</p><p>“There were three of us, from Blumenthal. I knew of them, but we were not close before. We met Mast-” he cuts himself off. His eyes darken.</p><p>“Trent Ikithon,” he spits the man’s name out as if it were something poisonous, “we trained under him.”</p><p>Caduceus thinks of the first time Caleb had opened up about his past to the group at large. His eyes had looked so glassy, his skin so pale. The way he had said Trent’s name then, described his rotten soul, prickled a violent instinct in Caduceus in a way not many things could.</p><p>If he thought he’d like to set his beetles upon the man before, he has the anxious thought that what he’s about to hear will only intensify that feeling.</p><p>Caleb starts to speak again.</p><p>“It was grueling. He would test our endurance and concentration. Put us under extreme stress. Extreme pain. I have stopped hiding it, you know this.” He raises his arms meaningfully, sliding one of his sleeves up just enough to reveal the scarred skin of his forearm. </p><p>Yes, it wasn’t a secret who had put those there. Caduceus feels his own breathing catch, the grimace he must be wearing deepen to something truly ugly. The thought of anyone being subjected to such atrocities was unpleasant, but that it was a child. That it was <em> Caleb</em>…</p><p>It’s almost unbearable.</p><p>“Every day, we would recite a pledge to affirm our allegiance to the Empire. We would then repeat it in Zemnian.” His voice thickens for a second and he takes a moment to swallow a few times. </p><p>“There was the Xhorhassian war to be fought,” his tone becomes envenomed now, and he expels each word like he cannot stand to keep them in his mouth any longer, “but we were warned of threats within the border of our own country. Political traitors, foreign agents, detractors to the King’s rule. We were told they would stop at nothing to destroy the Empire.” </p><p>There’s an intensity in his speech that isn’t fading, but growing brighter, sharper.</p><p>“I was rabid for it. A dog of war trained to kill and maim on command. I was trained in arcane defense and offense. To perform espionage at the highest level. To execute.” At the final part, his voice gives out. He takes a deep, ragged breath, and then another. Before long, he is near hyperventilating.</p><p>He suddenly turns and grabs Caduceus vice tight by the shoulders.</p><p>“I have tortured people. Innocent people! I killed them without so much as blinking my eyes!” His eyes are impossibly wide, searing an agonized brand into Caduceus’s own. His mouth contorts strangely, first into an approximation of a smile, then a frown, as if he’s lost control of his facial muscles. </p><p>He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. Nothing comes out.</p><p>Caduceus can’t tamp down the urge to soothe, to comfort. He reaches up to catch Caleb’s elbows in a gentle grasp. If this bothers Caleb, or if he even registers the touch Caduceus doesn’t know. He’s still breathing hard and there are twin tracks of tears rolling down the sides of his face, dripping from his chin.</p><p>“I was told,” he shudders out, seeming to flicker between the realms of lucidity and insanity with every word, “to remember. I was told that they were traitors to the empire. I was told to kill them. I killed my par-” he retches then, letting go of Caduceus’s shoulders to double over. </p><p>He coughs hard, hands flying over his throat, up to his mouth as if they’re unsure of where to go. He clutches at his face and begins to pull at his own hair. </p><p>Caduceus moves. </p><p>He gets a good handhold around Caleb’s waist and hauls him into his chest, keeping one arm wrapped tight around the small of his back. The fingers of his free hand card through Caleb’s hair as he cradles his head into the fabric of his tunic.</p><p>Caleb is sobbing freely now, seeming to only gasp in breath when physically required. A long, low mournful sound escapes him every now and again. </p><p>Caleb’s back and legs are angled awkwardly, so Caduceus adjusts the both of them to a more comfortable position all while keeping as tight a grip as possible on him.</p><p>After some time, he begins to wail. Long, agonized vocalizations that wreak utter havoc on Caduceus's heart. He holds fast against Caleb’s thrashing, beginning to pet the back and sides of his hair down with his hand. </p><p>He counts his own breaths, makes them as deep and even as possible so when Caleb begins to breathe again he has a ready example to follow.</p><p>~</p><p>It takes a long while for Caleb to come back. Caduceus isn’t as good at estimating time as Caleb is, but he puts it at a half-hour or more spent smoothing the creases out of Caleb’s shirt as he cries, whispering calming nonsense into the crown of his head.</p><p>His wails eventually turn to quivering moans, which then turn into thick and ineffective bouts of sniffling. Soon enough he is only breathing and sighing, near limp in Caduceus’s arms.</p><p>“I could not handle it. I lost my mind,” he says lowly, though the frightening mania has seeped out of his voice - which is now nothing more than a rasp - and been replaced with miserable desolation.</p><p>“I was taken away. I was put into an asylum. I was there for ten years,” His voice is ghost-like, writ with an endless hollowness.</p><p>Caduceus slows the motion of his hand but doesn’t stop.</p><p>“I do not remember most of it.” His voice is a reedy whisper now. Caduceus can tell his story is winding down. </p><p>“I was healed by a woman. A cleric of some sort, I think. I killed a guard. I ran for days on end. There is not much to be said for the years after that, before I met Nott. I lived a fugitive’s life most days, and others I was less than a beggar.” </p><p>There’s a different kind of hurt there, a different story entirely, but Caduceus leaves it for now. Tonight has been hard enough. </p><p>He feels an echo of relief in noticing that he and Caleb have unknowingly begun to breathe in tandem. He insists to himself that in no part is this feeling related to the fact that Caleb hasn’t drawn away from him yet, hasn’t pulled his head away from where it’s laying on his chest.</p><p>He sighs again.</p><p>“And I met you all not long after. And. Here we are,” he says, sounding completely, exhaustively wrung out.</p><p>“Here we are,” Caduceus agrees, rumbling the words into Caleb’s hair.</p><p>“If you wish to distance yourself from me from now on, I will not begrudge you.”</p><p><em> What? </em> Caduceus thinks, confused.</p><p>“What?” Caduceus says, confused. Caleb pulls back then, shifting in Caduceus’s lap to look at him.</p><p>His eyes are striking, sharp and intelligent as ever despite his prolonged outburst. There is a single stray tear lingering on the edge of his jaw and Caduceus reaches a thumb up to swipe it away. Caleb exhales a noise like a short, wet laugh, though he isn’t smiling.</p><p>“I am a vile man. I have hurt many, including those I was closest to. I would not like to be lied to and told that this will not impact your opinion of myself.” The line of his gaze is steel-hard. </p><p>Or as much as it can be with the remainder of his tears still clinging to his eyelashes.</p><p>Caduceus gives pause, considers how his feelings towards Caleb have changed with this new information.</p><p>He thinks about his own parents, smiling at him, hugging him, tucking him and his brother in at night. </p><p>He thinks about how long a decade is to a human. He’s had time to do the math. Forty seasons.</p><p>He thinks about Yasha. How she had fallen to her knees after he had cast <em> Dispel </em> on her in the Chantry, freeing her of Obann’s control. How she had just screamed and screamed and screamed. The look of pain and regret that had sunken deep into her features thereafter, etched into the lines of her face much like her tattoo.</p><p>Caleb is watching him and he takes care to ensure his response is phrased the way he wants it.</p><p>“My opinion of you is changed, of course. But only to the degree that learning anything new about you would.” </p><p>It’s not enough and they both know it. Caduceus feels the urge to be honest, too honest. But then he supposes it’s the bare minimum of what he should be giving back to Caleb after tonight.</p><p>“I couldn’t figure you out, when we met. You had lost someone, one of your own. The sense of mourning was familiar, something I had a lot of practice with.” Caleb is watching him, searching and intense.</p><p>“After some time had passed, the grief began to fade,” Caduceus continues, “but not yours. Yours was deeper. It was more than grief, it was…”</p><p>“Shame,” Caleb breathes out.</p><p>“Yeah. Shame. And guilt. I had no idea why.” He takes another chance and raises his hand to press it to Caleb’s chest, where he knows the human heart lay under the skin. Caleb shivers but doesn’t pull away. Caduceus pauses to gather his thoughts again, knows the next thing he says is the most crucial.</p><p>“Vile men don’t feel shame. Vile men don’t feel guilt. They don’t regret the evil things they’ve done. They don’t think about the evil acts they commit.” Caleb attempts to turn his head away mid-sentence, but Caduceus raises both hands to either side of his face and pulls him forward, leans in close to <em> thud </em> their foreheads together as he finishes talking.</p><p>Caleb is shaking, breathing heavily. Caduceus realizes they both are. Something loosens further inside of him, something he thinks has been coming undone for a while. When he speaks, it’s tight and sincere.</p><p>“You don’t need to protect me from you.” He had planned on saying <em> us</em>, but <em> me </em> had come out instead, had felt more right. </p><p>Caleb makes a short <em> oh </em> sound like it’s been punched out of him.</p><p>Then he's surging forward and pressing his mouth against his Caduceus's.</p><p>He can feel Caleb’s hands tangle in the hair above his ears, drawing him in and keeping him close. His lips are warm and rough, and all Caduceus can smell is sweat and musk, fresh ink and parchment, and something else undefinable that’s simply <em> Caleb</em>.</p><p>He’s seen his parents kiss before, seen Veth and her husband kiss, listened with a patient ear every time Jester waxed poetic about true love and all the amazing kisses that come with it. But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing, for sharing a part of his body with someone else so intimately.</p><p>It’s incredible.</p><p>Caleb pulls back, only far enough to make eye contact. His eyes are still glistening, and though they’re the same shocking shade of blue they always are, Caduceus thinks they somehow look brighter. After only a second he’s moving to hug Caduceus tightly.</p><p>“Thank you.” The words are muffled into the breast of his tunic, and Caduceus hums in response. He breathes in, smelling the faint scent of soap in Caleb’s hair. </p><p>Slowly, his humming forms itself into a tune from his childhood, something his aunt had sang to him once, though if pressed he doesn’t think he’d be able to conjure up the lyrics. It’s not a surprise when Caleb relaxes into sleep some minutes later, his grip on Caduceus’s tunic loosening. </p><p>He might not be the strongest of the Nein, but Caleb certainly isn’t the heaviest and so it doesn’t take much effort to lift and shimmy the two of them onto the blanketed mattress Caduceus keeps on the ground near the base of the tree. He carefully adjusts them both into comfortable positions.</p><p>He stares at the sky through the branches of the tree and the jars of magical light that dangle from it, listening to the song the evening breeze shakes and rattles out around him. He blinks, focuses on the sounds of the house creaking and settling, the occasional footsteps of someone preparing for bed or grabbing a midnight snack.</p><p>Unbidden, a memory appears on the backs of his closed eyes of his time living at the Grove.</p><p>His mother had devised a simple botanical mechanism to deliver fresh water from a nearby stream to their garden, weaving together hollowed out logs with stiff plant matter torn into long strips. For two seasons, it had worked spectacularly.</p><p>And then the water stopped. His mother walked the length of the thing, pausing and inspecting and tapping on the sides of it with a closed fist. Unable to locate the problem and unwilling to dismantle the contraption, she gave up.</p><p>Caduceus would walk to the stream, run his fingers along the rough texture of the emerald hued bark and wonder why the water had ceased its flow.</p><p>One day, he heard his mother shout. She was standing near the spout of it in their garden, calling for Caduceus to keep his distance. He watched as a rush of noxious brown-black liquid began to spew into the dirt, splashing and gathering in grotesque puddles. It seemed to go on forever, until suddenly the water ran clear, pouring clean and fresh from the stream again.</p><p>His mother had said that something must have blocked the water’s path, gotten stuck or built up until nothing but stagnant filth was left in the logs. The smell was revolting but she had clapped her hands with joy and set about cleaning up the rancid puddles, whistling a tune all the while.</p><p>The bounty of their garden that season was magnificent.</p><p>He cranes his neck sideways and looks at Caleb. His face is calm while he sleeps, his hair splayed in a glossy red halo behind him, his lips slightly parted.</p><p>Caduceus feels battered, run ragged with the intensity of his and Caleb’s emotions. His soul had ached with an endless empathy as he held Caleb, something wild rioting around the inside of his ribcage for every shed tear.</p><p>How would their relationship look from now on? Would Caleb regret revealing what he had tonight? Would he regret kissing Caduceus like he did?</p><p>Caduceus knows that this isn’t it for Caleb. His hurt isn’t a bloodied wound to press a bandage upon, or a bone to be set by speaking the words of a healing spell. It’s something deep, deeper than he can sense. </p><p>There is no easy way out of this. But, Melora had never set him upon a path he found impossible to walk. And if that path included venturing deep into a pitch-black cavern…</p><p>...he’d just have to prepare the <em> Daylight </em> spell.</p><p>He rolls over, trying not to jostle Caleb while settling as near to him as possible. Breathing deep, he prays to Melora. </p><p>He prays for his family, for the future of the Savilarwood, for the health of the Nein and for continued peace in Wildemount. He gives his thanks for Her love and grace, leaving his final prayer - an impassioned and near desperate plea - for last. </p><p>He places a hand on the wide of Caleb’s back, between his shoulder blades. He draws in a breath.</p><p>
  <em> Mother. Help me keep him safe. Give me the strength to support him the way he needs. Please. He’s important to…he’s important. </em>
</p><p>He watches Caleb until his own eyelids grow too heavy to lift, drifting off to sleep not long after.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was titled "caduceus clay is a himbo change my mind" in my drafts</p><p>please, please tell me there are clayleb shippers still kicking around? i KNOW they've had so little canon interaction but the relationship potential... the HEALING potential... far too great to ignore, hence this extremely indulgent piece of fiction</p><p>to be continued. hug your wizards y'all. and you know what? hug your clerics too. they deserve it</p><p>thank you for reading, comments and kudos make me feel alive. okay love you goodbye</p></blockquote></div></div>
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